Chapter Text
Merlin has to work for the third time in the last hour to keep his horse, Deorwine from spooking. “Wren, please mind the ponies. They are spooked by your wings!” He cries again, trying to convince his unruly child to calm her wild heart. But part of him is proud of her. Look at her- only just before a year old and flapping about and almost nearly fully flying! She isn’t as graceful as Aithusa was at her age. Not by a landshot- even with her wings as stunted as they'd been by being trapped in the well.
Kilgharrah assured him at his last visit that it’s normal for Wyverns, which was what apparently the half dragon half human dragonlord young were called. Merlin had asked why they weren’t called something like ‘drumans’ and Kilgharrah had looked ready to murder his dragon lord on the spot if he were able to.
Kilgharrah had explained to Merlin that Wren’s development wouldn’t entirely mirror a human’s nor a dragon’s. For example, she hasn’t yet spoken her first word at almost a year, but is flapping and soaring about for short distances on her winged arms and toddling as well. Though her toddling admittedly consists of a lot of hopping about on all fours. But it is done more gracefully and less awkwardly than a human would have managed due to the way her legs bend in a way more akin to a bird or a dragon than a human. Her scaled arms, back, and legs shimmer in the sunlight, a radiant deep and dark blue against pale white skin. Her mane of black curls reach around her neck and her draconic face. She wears a small tunic and pair of trousers that reach the backward knees of her dragon legs, much to the horror of some of the court. A princess in pants? Never mind the fact that she is a wyvern with the dragon hybrid body of an ancient Egyptian goddess. Pants on a girl are the outlier, sure.
Wren gives a few hearty flaps, balancing herself where she perches on Saoirse in front of Arthur before allowing herself to slump backwards into him, wrapping her arms in such a way to blanket herself with her wings. Arthur places a steadying hand at her chest, preventing her from slipping off in either direction. Sometimes he wishes their daughter were a tad less fearless.
“We’re almost home Wrenkalrenth. Feel free to sleep. Your father has you,” Arthur tells her and Merlin smiles seeing the two of them together, so tender. Wren snuggles back into Arthur’s embrace and they ride on. They’re returning from helping set up Sir Leon in his new holdings at the edges of Camelot. When Arthur was faced with the decision of who to appoint the newly vacant Lordship over Lord Bohun’s territory, he could think of no one else more trustworthy. Sir Leon’s been in Camelot’s knighthood longer than anyone, and it was an opportunity to give a Lord’s third son holdings in his own right. Sure Arthur hadn’t had to personally travel out to set him up himself, but he’d wanted to see a dear friend off.
Merlin had wanted to go as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to visit the aftermath of… that place. But that was about six months ago. This visit, they were simply visiting a friend in his new home. And Wren had seemed oddly insistent to go along. But Sir (now Lord) Leon is one of her favorite uncles, so Merlin supposes that shouldn’t be so surprising.
Merlin had been hesitant to visit, returning to… that place, but with time passed and changes made to the holdings itself following the decimation of that half of the building, it was actually healing. None of that castle looked the same as it once had and it felt right that even the place it had happened had been laid to rest and changed forever. Merlin had slept a bit more soundly that night, closure closer in reach. He has struggled with semi regular nightmares of his rape since. His rescue had been so swift that it often didn’t feel real that Lord Bohun was dead and gone at all, so fast he had burned in Kilgharrah’s fire.
The thought of it sends a shiver up Merlin’s spine, but no more. No panic attack, no flashback. Just a shudder. Merlin relaxes. Great progress indeed.
But apparently not enough for his fiancé. Arthur, riding beside him, doesn’t fail to take notice of the shudder.
“Are you warm enough? It isn’t particularly cold out….”
“Quit your mother henning, prat. I’m fine.” Arthur raises a skeptical brow.
“Alright Alright- I’m well, happy?” Arthur huffs in reluctant acceptance but a corner of a smile creeps his lips anyways. “Fine” has become a hated word in their family, as it’s one Merlin regularly uses when he isn’t really. So Arthur’s grown a strong distrust for the use of that word in particular. Still, Merlin understands and loves that he cares so much, even if Merlin isn’t wanting to deal with his demons at that moment.
For right now he really is fine. He’s marrying the love of his life at the end of the month, his daughter is thriving and healthy, and all in his life feels bright and healthy and thriving for the first time in a while. It’s the happiest he’s been in some time.
And at the thought, Merlin panics a little. Oh no. He’d had similar thoughts before becoming pregnant with Wrenkalrenth. Hmm, think depressing thoughts. Sick puppies. The plague. Oh Freya’s grave.
Oh that one works, but fills Merlin with a bit of a feeling of guilt. When was the last time he visited her lake grave? He’ll have to plan a trip soon.
Shaking his head from distracting thoughts, he looks up ahead at their castle. They’re home! Happiness immediately floods Merlin’s heart again and he has to summon the thoughts again.
He loves Wrenkalrenth and he would maybe even love another child, but he doesn’t want to do that all over again so soon! Dead puppies. Plague. Arthur with the plague. Okay, happiness managed. He chuckles a bit to himself at his silliness.
“Care to share with the class?”
Merlin chuckles more earnestly now, in anticipation for the face he knows Arthur’s going to make when he says:
“Dead puppies.”
“Dead puppies have you chuckling???” And Merlin bursts into laughter anew at the absolutely gobsmacked expression on his love’s face before promising to explain later. He doesn’t want to explain around young ears. Sure, the way he conceived Wren wasn’t… explicit in nature… but Merlin doesn’t want Wrenkalrenth growing up frightened of being happy. She won’t become dragonlord until after his passing and who’s to say if she’ll even have to worry about that herself. Perhaps Kilgharrah, Aithusa, and Wrenkalrenth are enough for the world. Or perhaps if/when Merlin has another Wyvern child that’ll be enough. The old religion will find it’s balance with dragonkind and its population somehow. Merlin just hopes it doesn’t require too much of his own body. Especially now that he really feels he’s reclaimed his bodily independence again with enough time since Wrenkalrenth’s birth.
More questions for Kilgharrah the next time they meet. Merlin feels a bit poorly that their relationship lately has mainly consisted of Merlin asking question after question about Wren’s development and biology, but he has no one else to ask.
They arrive at the stables and Merlin hops off of his mount, patting Deorwine before allowing a servant to remove all of her gear and stable her. So odd how that used to be his job for everyone else and now he isn’t even doing his own horse. Merlin isn’t sure quite when that transition happened. The interruption in his duties during his pregnancy has certainly hastened the process. And his engagement to a King didn’t slow it down either. By all rights, he should be demanding breakfast in bed or being hand fed grapes or something stupid. But he’s still a simple person at heart, even if this simple person nowadays wears finer clothes than a year’s pay in his childhood. Hey, he’s allowed some luxuries.
He strides to Arthur’s horse and accepts a very sleepy Wren into his arms. She wraps her winged arms around his shoulders and the leathers of her wings fold around him like a tiny cape or a shawl. Merlin can feel the heat of them even through his own tunic and cloak. Wren buries her snout in Merlin’s collarbone as he carries her back through the castle, one hand on her steadily breathing back and one beneath her rump. Her tail swishes lazily and sleepily. She must be having a good dream. The thought sends a smile to Merlin’s lips.
But she must be hungry and if Merlin doesn’t feed her now, she’s just going to be horrible cranky right before bed. Before Lord Leon finds them to greet them, Merlin finds a spot to duck away into- a small room or closet of some sort- and looses his tunic at the shoulder, unraveling it enough to tuck Wren’s snout inside. At the smell of him, she rouses a bit, latching onto him and suckling lazily. Merlin allows her to do so, slowly and stilted as she keeps falling asleep. He continues to gently jostle her until he’s content that she’s had enough. As he’s relatching his tunic at its shoulder, a shriek calls around the corner, or perhaps more of a gasped sputtering of air.
“Oh I- I- I am quite sorry Marvin is it?” a Lady with long flowing blond hair, half tied up in intricate braided buns and half spilling over her back and shoulders. Her skin is darkened like Gwen’s and her eyes a deep vibrant amber. Beautiful by any measure of the word.
“Yes,” Merlin admits, hefting Wren up on his hip, her sleep head lolling over onto his shoulder, “I’d shake to make my acquaintance but my hands are quite full,” he checked nervously, standing.
“Ah yes… with the… Princess? I’d presume?” Merlin is used to that tone of voice. Hesitant. Unsure. Wary. Wrenkalrenths unique visual appearance took some time for the members of court to get used to, and it’s likely more difficult for outsiders who’d likely heard exaggerated and outlandish tales of Camelot’s wyvern princess. But this woman isn’t outright rude. Perhaps mostly startled if anything. Ever the optimist, Merlin decided to trust her will is good. After all, she’s here in Leon’s home. Surely she must be a friend to him.
“It’s lovely to meet you…”
“Lady Milanoui,” she says, bowing her head deeply in reverence to what she’s likely gathered is the future King’s consort. Merlin hasn’t quite heard a name of that cadence before. He wonders if she’s from a far off kingdom indeed.
“I was just on my way to greet you all. I am a guest of Lord Leon. I am to be in attendance at meal this evening,” she explains, gesturing a hand to encourage Merlin to follow her. Which he does. She sways while she walks heavily and Merlin has to wonder if she’s working dutifully to conceal a limp, but he doesn’t pry. It must be his inner Gaius burning to know her diagnosis. If perhaps there’s a remedy that he could…
Before he can blink, it seems they’ve arrived in the main great hall where his beloved and Leon are grasping forearms and pulling each other into a fierce brothers in arms hug. Leon towers above even Arthur’s bulk, though Percival would trump the both of them. Merlin sometimes wonders how he got himself surrounded by so many giants among men. Ah yes. It had been from sassing off a teenaged Arthur years ago. It’s crazy to think how much his life has changed since that day so long ago. He smiles down at Wren at his hip in fondness.
“Ah and this must be Wrenkalrenth! I almost did not recognize her with how much she has grown!” Leon booms with a sunshine radiating smile. He walks towards Merlin and his daughter with open arms for a hug but Merlin shushes him, slightly turning away.
“You’ll wake her! She tired herself out something fierce on the travels here,” Merlin explains with an apologetic expression upon his face. Leon maintains some distance and lowers his volume, apologizing.
“Apologies, I’m just excited to see you both. And you have met my wife, Lady Milanoui,” he gestures to the woman taking residence at his side. Merlin’s eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed. Why had they not heard of their nuptials? Their engagement?! This is one of Arthur’s closest friends! And then why had she introduced herself as his guest and not his wife? Arthur sputters in a similar state of disbelief, but Merlin can see the hurt twinged expression behind his eyes. One of his best friends got married and didn’t bother to tell him?
“Well, not yet really,” Lady Milanoui says with a shy smile that clashes with the wild and bold coloring of her eyes,” we are merely engaged.” Leon scoffs loudly, a big smile splitting his face.
“Merely!!! You say it as if I am a consolation prize!”
“You know I did not mean it. And I did not know if you wanted to announce it yet. It only happened yesterday!” So that explains the introduction as a guest. Merlin can see Arthur’s tension bleed a bit hearing how recent the engagement was. Leon would not have had time to tell him. Would likely be planning to tonight as he just did. But it still doesn’t negate all of that feeling of light betrayal. Merlin moved to Arthur's side, placing himself with a radius of Arthur’s arms so he may put an arm around Merlin’s back to his opposite weight in support, nestling the sleeping wyvern between them.
Arthur, catching himself and controlling his expression better, soothe his face and says in a cordial tone: “my apologies Lady Milanoui, I was simply surprised. I had not realized Lord Leon had found love so quickly. Let me be amongst the first to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptuals,” he takes one of her hands in his and kisses her knuckle. She chuckles, surprised, retreating her hand when it’s socially acceptable to do so and no later.
“Thank you,” she says uncertainly. So perhaps where she is from, that is not a common custom?
“Come! We have much to discuss!!!” Leon booms again, losing track of his volume once more. Wren shifts around at Merlin’s hip between him and his fiancé, whining in protest and the noise with her sensitive hearing.
“I’ll put her to bed before we take up our sup. She is tired and needs to rest,” Arthur offers to Merlin before transferring the wyvern to his own arms, curling up her body in his arms protectively across his chest. Merlin’s heart warms at the sight.
Merlin follows Leon and Milanoui to the feast hall as some of their servants finish taking their belongings from their party to the rooms they’ll be staying in, guiding Arthur to the way. Merlin can’t help but wonder if there’s more to Lady Milanoui than meets the eye.